Earning Respect
by Tidia
Summary: Pre-movie.  In a battle with the Byzantines there is much to be lost and won. Brother fic.
1. Chapter 1

Earning Respect

By: Tidia

Rating: PG-13

Notes: Thank you for the warm reviews in my last story, Standing with Brothers. I also posted a modern AU, and will probably add to that soon, too. But this story wanted to be written, too. Self- betaed so all mistakes are my own. Also, if there is interest in getting another movie made- Facebook Disney along with sending them emails and of course buying the DVD. I am a strong believer in making things happen with a little bit of effort.

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An empire was only as strong as its borders. A weak border was an invitation to the Byzantines who grew bold in their attacks to threaten the Persian Empire. It was enough of a threat that King Sharaman would lead his army to a decisive answer.

The tents of Sharaman and Tus were concentrated in the middle of the camp. Garsiv and Dastan were on the outer edges. The princes were planning the patrols, especially as they eased their way closer to the area of skirmishes.

Dastan followed the markings on the map; their father had retired to his tent, leaving his sons to make the decisions.

Garsiv pointed to where he would station his men on horseback. Tus patted him on the shoulder.

"What about my men? They can keep watch." Dastan asked, looking between his brothers.

Garsiv did not answer him, instead rolling up the map and handing it to one of his guards.

Tus pulled his brother away from the table to another one set with food, passing Dastan a fruit from the tray. "Garsiv's men know what to look for–they are familiar with the area."

Dastan took the fruit with a smile that belied his disappointment. "I should get back to my men."

He walked through the camp, eyeing the soldiers and their competence. Tus and Garsiv did not think he was battle ready, and Garsiv discriminated against his men, questioning their loyalty.

Dastan had no such doubts. Bis was waiting for him at the tent, talking to a few of the men. He gestured for his friend to follow him inside. "Bis, set up distance patrols-behind and ahead, using discretion. No one else should know." Garsiv had his plan, but Dastan had another. He was also still following orders in his _own_ way.

"Very well." Bis cocked an eyebrow. They were less formal than Tus and Garsiv were accustomed to. It came from growing up together. "Extra rations?" Bis asked, the men who would do this task deserved a reward.

"Extra rations, and keep me informed if anything is amiss," Dastan said and Bis went to perform his duty. Dastan took a bite of the fruit, finishing it before removing his blade for the evening and laying in his pallet for some rest. They would move again in the morning and set up their final camp before they attacked.

The next day Dastan listened to his father's plan for multiple attacks on the Byzantines, places they were trying to overtake. The Persian army was large enough that they would be divided into two units and be victorious with Sharaman's plan. His father and Tus would take the larger stronghold while Garsiv and Dastan were taking the smaller fortresses. They would attack at dawn. Dastan did not broach the topic of patrols again. His brothers would not listen to him, and it was not a subject to bring to his father.

The king was in a merry mood, looking forward to bringing finality to the Byzantines. Dastan waved off drinking, but enjoyed the company of his brothers and father, listening as Nazim told battle stories from his youth.

Before retiring Dastan checked on his men to make sure they were prepared for the battle in the morning. He removed his tunic when Bis barged in, a bloodied soldier with him.

"The Byzantines are planning an attack on the camp!" Bis announced, helping the soldier to keep standing.

"What happened?" Dastan grabbed one of his swords.

"Prince Dastan, the Byzantines have been following, hiding well. They plan to attack the camp," the soldier explained.

Dastan squeezed the soldier's shoulder. "Thank you, Rajim." He directed his orders to Bis, striding out of the tent and into action. "Bis, sound the alarm, report to my father and protect him and Tus." He gestured to the men he had just spoken to before going to rest. "You men, light up the sky, let's see where these Byzantine scum are."

The men moved fast, their weaponry by their side. They went along the outside edge of the camp. In the distance he could hear the camp coming alive with Bis's warning. Dastan grabbed a bow; the arrow was lit and fired into the air, making the sky glow.

"They're right on top of us!" Dastan yelled, his sword at the ready as he plunged to attack the raiding Byzantines who had blended masterfully into the sand and night.

His men were joined by other soldiers and soon the camp was in an uproar, fire lighting the way and showing the treachery in their midst. Dastan was backing up toward his tent. He pulled one of the poles, jabbing it into the stomach of one attacker, while using his sword to slice at another one. He took a moment to assess the battle. The Byzantines were being forced back, but that was not enough. They needed to be eliminated.

He saw where one of his men was pinned down by enemy soldiers. Pulling the pole he had used for his attack. He plunged forward into the fray, taking two of the Byzantines down. As he came to standing he felt the sting of sword across his back. He had no armor to protect himself. He pushed his sword backward, hitting the man who had injured him.

Dastan's man was safe, their area littered with bodies. The battle was well in hand with the Persian Army sending a roar out as their enemies were dealt a blow. With his back still blazing, he grabbed a dark tunic and slipped it on with a hiss to cover the wound as he went to find his father and brothers and check on their well-being.

Bis was outside his father's tent. "All is well."

Dastan nodded to his friend as Bis announced his presence to the king.

His father dismissed his men. He wrapped an arm around his son, and Dastan hid the wince. "Your man warned us in time. The reports are the barbarians have been dealt with. You did well, Dastan."

Dastan basked in his father's praise. "And the battle for tomorrow?"

"Remains the same. We will attack at dawn." Sharaman pounded his fist against the flat of other hand. "With my sons at my side, the Byzantines will be crushed."

"Very well, Father. I will assist my brothers." Dastan left his father's tent. Bis had brought their horses. With a groan Dastan hoisted himself on the animal's back, and they went to find Tus and Garsiv.

Garsiv greeted him first, "Did you send out patrols?"

Dastan remained calm at his brother's rancor. "Are you sure, brother that you are not missing a sentiment?" Dastan would have liked some sort of appreciation, even if it was for circumventing orders.

"You did well, Dastan. A clandestine attack would have been devastating," Tus interrupted. "Your men have proved their loyalty."

Garsiv snorted. He was not going to acknowledge Dastan's men. "There will be a funeral pyre that can be seen by any other Byzantine that stands in our way."

"Tus, I will tell the men of your words," Dastan answered, ignoring Garsiv.

Garsiv chuckled. "They need encouragement for the battle tomorrow?"

"They are my men, happier than your lot, Garsiv."

"You are misguided." Garsiv positioned his horse side to side with Dastan. "Happiness doesn't win battles."

Dastan knew without a doubt his men would do anything for him, which is why they followed him into battles, followed his orders. "No, it changes the tides of war."

"Are you two finished? Tomorrow is a battle," Tus stated, placed in the position of breaking up the brother's rivalry.

"Good night, brothers," Dastan said jovially. He was accustomed to Garsiv's difference in opinion when it came to leading soldiers. He hoped one day Garsiv could see that his way was not the only way. Dastan did not relax until he had returned to his tent. He removed the tunic he had quickly donned, feeling it drying against the blood.

"Your back-" Bis said with a hushed awe.

"Stitch it, bandage it, do whatever you want, but my armor will be on it at dawn-"

"My prince-" Bis started, using the term when he was worried about Dastan.

"-is still needed in battle. There will be time to rest later." Dastan had to lead his men. If not, then Garsiv would put his men in the rear, picking over those already dead. His men were better than that; they shouldn't deal with the refuse, which wouldn't give them self-respect.

Rest was hard to find, and Dastan didn't know if he became unconscious at some point or fallen into his exhaustion. When he awoke he noted Bis had stayed by him, sleeping sitting up by Dastan's pallet. Dastan moved his foot to awaken his man-at-arms.

Dastan was on his stomach and moved stiffly to not pull on his back any more than necessary. Bis didn't make to help him, watching Dastan struggle.

"You are being foolish."

Dastan finally had two feet on the ground, then got to his feet with a small bobble before righting himself. "I do not resemble your comment. I am the same Dastan you are quick to bet on."

"With your money."

"Not always," Dastan replied, washing his face. It was still dark, but movement could be sensed in the camp on the dawn of battle. Bis had set his leather armor on the bed. He eyed it suspiciously.

Bis held out the vest. "You need help getting into the armor."

"No-Yes." Dastan admitted defeat. He would go into battle, but with help. He mounted his horse with no one but Bis knowing there was anything amiss.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Earning Respect 2/2

By: Tidia

Disclaimer: Disney owns the movie rights along with everything else.

Notes: First, let me say I am humbled by receiving so many Favorite Story alerts. I swore that I would not write in another fandom, and yet I was drawn in. I have been really enjoying myself with a few more stories in me. Secondly, Supernatural Brotherhood fans I have no abandoned you and I do have a story in the works. Lastly, I am on livejournal and that is where the Prince of Persia stories are.

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They had won the day and the Byzantines were abandoning the fort. Garsiv and his men were planning to give chase. He found Dastan inside, losing sight of his brother once Dastan joined the melee and crawled up the wall to dispatch with some archers. His brother was seated on the steps, a few of his men standing around him, guarding him.

"Dastan, you and your men hold the fort. I'll take care of the Byzantines," Garsiv yelled out. "Find the vizier and his men, too."

Dastan lifted his hand, and Garsiv took that as acknowledgement that his orders would be followed. He returned at nightfall with the Byzantine threat eliminated. He expected that Dastan would have already received the primary dispatches.

He did not look for his brother, believing he would be greeted by him, but he was ignored. Garsiv did not like being ignored. Garsiv couldn't tell whose men were Dastan's as he went through the temporary camp. "Where is Prince Dastan?" he hollered.

A soldier responded, "He is inside, Prince Garsiv."

With large steps so that his guard was having trouble keeping up, he entered the fort to be met by the now restored, loyal vizier. "Prince Garsiv, you have bested the Byzantines and honored your father."

Garsiv nodded at the accolades. "And my brother, Dastan? Is he about?"

The vizier's news had him storming into the room where Dastan was being tended. He stopped short, seeing Dastan seated leaning over a chair as his back was being stitched by a healer. "What happened here?"

"Just a scratch," Dastan slurred.

Garsiv saw the chalice, and could smell the alcohol in the air. Garsiv looked for Bis to explain.

"Prince Dastan was hurt in the Byzantine attack evening last."

"Bis!" Dastan hissed. "It was nothing of concern and was tended to."

Garsiv moved closer to see the bleeding slash, and how the healer was trying to push the rough skin together. It was easy to see in some places where there had already been stiches that had popped open. There were approximately seventy-five stitches with a few more to go. "I see. It is amazing what you consider minor."

Dastan turned his head to see his brother; his hair fell over his face. "Do not tell Father."

Garsiv snorted, his brother should be concerned with Garsiv's wrath not Sharaman, but Garsiv would manipulate the situation to put some fear in Dastan. "Perhaps you need to hear his lecture on reckless behavior again."

"Are you finished?" Dastan asked.

At first Garsiv thought Dastan was addressing him, but the healer replied, evidently it had been a frequently asked question. "Just." He adeptly tied the thread. His assistant wiped the wound, then the healer began to bind the wound with linen.

Garsiv stepped away giving them room. When they finished, he planned on having a private word with his brother and to send his brother to rest. But, Dastan urged Bis to hand him his robe. He slipped into it and stood with a groan.

"Where are you going?" Garsiv blocked his way to the door.

"To tend to my men." Dastan's eyes went to Garsiv's sword. Garsiv had rested his hand there. "They are my brothers, too."

Garsiv used his height to loom over his brother. "I do not recall them in the palace with us growing up. I ask that you rest tonight, then tomorrow you may see to your men. You will rest."

Dastan seemed to think about it for a moment. "Very well. Bis, bring me news of the men. Garsiv, dispatches have arrived with good news from Tus and Father." Dastan sat on the edge of chair.

Garsiv reviewed the dispatches and stayed with Dastan, not convinced that he would stay put for the evening. Dastan would push himself as was his nature. Garsiv was already thinking of a plan, but would not put it in place if his brother did as he was told.

Dastan of course did not listen, and was found among his men or helping to rebuild the fortress perimeters. Garsiv knew what he must do, and sought his brother at the evening repast. "Father has requested we meet with him and Tus. The vizier and his men have things in hand once more and we shall leave a few men to assist them. Be ready in the morning."

Garsiv watched his brother avoid his horse in the morning. His procrastination was amusing. "Shall I get a cart for you?"

"No." Dastan mounted his horse; his mouth was thin with concentration.

"Very well, brother," Garsiv replied, thankful the trip to the stronghold was short.

Usually, Dastan was filled with conversation and teasing as they made their way in their travels. On this trip, Bis was giving Dastan furtive looks. Garsiv continued as usual, keeping a quick pace.

They were met by cheers as they entered the gate of the stronghold. Tus came forward to greet them.

"Brothers!"

Garsiv dismounted, handing his horse to one of the men to tend. Tus embraced his forearm, not noticing Dastan leaning heavily against his horse, unmoving, shoulders slumped after he dismounted. He turned to greet Tus, too and Garsiv stepped away as Dastan fell into Tus.

"He's your responsibility now," Garsiv said as he led the way into the stronghold.

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Tus asked for assistance in getting Dastan inside, and Bis was by his side. His brother revived himself enough to be able to walk, albeit slowly and with a hiss when Tus braced his arm against Dastan's back. Tus dispatched one of his soldiers to inform the king about Dastan's condition.

"Tus, I am well, just tired," Dastan gritted out, sweat beading on his forehead.

"I believe the physicians should be the judge of that," Tus replied tersely.

When their father came Tus and Garsiv were outside the room where Dastan was being tended to. They were arguing as Garsiv was less than forthcoming about Dastan's predicament.

"Can someone tell the **King **what this is about?" Sharaman asked, waiting for his sons to reply.

It was Bis who took it upon himself to inform the king and Tus about what had happened. "Prince Dastan was wounded."

Sharaman looked to Garsiv, "In battle?"

"In the Byzantine camp attack, Sire." Bis looked away and lowered his voice. "He did not want anyone to know."

The King rubbed a hand down his face. "Why?"

Tus recognized the action as one his father used when he was frustrated by the stubbornness of his sons. He had often repeated they tried his patience.

"Because Dastan did not want his riffraff under my command," Garsiv gestured with his hand.

"I see." The King sighed, then turned to Tus. "And how are you involved?"

Tus shifted under his father's gaze, placing his fingers on his beads. "When he fainted I caught him. The physicians are with him."

At that one of the physicians opened the door, bowed to the princes and to the king. "The wound has been salted, Sire."

Tus shivered. Wounds were salted to prevent infection, but the sting of the salt was unrelenting.

Garsiv became angry once more. Garsiv always became angry when things were out of his control. "Father, are you going to allow him to carry on like this?"

Sharaman flicked his hand for Bis to leave. This was a private matter, and Tus's brother knew better. Garsiv should have held his tongue.

The physicians left, taking with them the bloodied bandage, and leaving Dastan in the middle of a bed with a long cut covered with salt. Dastan moved slightly to his side, hugging a pillow.

Their father sat on the edge of the bed. "What am I to do with you?"

"Knock some sense into him," Garsiv growled under his breath. Tus elbowed his brother into silence.

"Is it true you went into battle wounded, Dastan? All to keep your men in your command?"

Tus heard the disappointment in his father's voice. No one wanted to hear that tone from Sharaman or a father.

Dastan glanced away. "Yes, because I have earned the respect of my men. We are comrades, a family. I would not want them to come to harm."

"Stop, please," Garsiv yelled. "We are your family." He placed a hand on Tus's shoulder.

Tus lifted his hand for Garsiv to remain silent.

Dastan licked his lips. "I also sent my men on patrols after Garsiv and Tus excluded them."

"You admit to not following orders?" Their father frowned. He was a proponent of the chain of command, recognition that his orders be followed and those of Tus's as the crown prince.

"I admit to learning from you, Father and Tus and Garsiv because I **respect** your opinion." Dastan moved his hand closer to their father's hand. "Perhaps one day I'll earn your respect, too."

"You have more than my respect, Dastan. You are a pride and joy to your father." The King pushed back Dastan's hair. "Rest and be well, my son."

Tus and Garsiv both flinched when their father glared at them-it was an order to follow him. Outside the door in a hushed tone he leaned into his sons' space. "You must make this right. I will not have division. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Sir," Tus and Garsiv responded at once, reminding Tus of when they were younger.

Tus fixed his hands on Garsiv's shoulders. "You must temper yourself."

Garsiv stepped away, out of his brother's arm's length. "He," Garsiv pointed back to the room, "needs to learn that he could have lost us the battle and more by his stunt."

"It is the **more** that has you worried, brother." Tus, like Garsiv, watched over Dastan. They saw their younger brother do death defying feats that they themselves were unable to do. They understood it was part of Dastan's character. Although it seemed as if Dastan could do anything, they knew that was not true, recalling the boy they took under their wing when he first came to the palace. They were protective of him as he was them. "We have to make this right," Tus leveled his eyes.

Garsiv nodded, and they entered once again into Dastan's room.

"**I am** resting," Dastan said with a huff when he heard the door open.

Tus grinned at their younger brother's crankiness. Dastan lost his pleasant disposition when injured, and also did not like displeasing the king. It would be a long few days until he was feeling better and back to his old self.

Tus pulled one of the chairs closer to the bed and Garsiv followed. The middle brother always thought that Tus dealt with their younger brother best. "Perhaps the problem is that we do see you as too much of a younger brother."

"An annoying younger brother," Garsiv added.

Tus kicked his brother's shin. "-and not more of the man you have become."

"You are still the same Dastan I remember getting lost in the palace," Garsiv said, moving his chair closer to the bed.

Dastan snorted, moving to the side of the bed away from the center. "It was only once, and because you would not tell me where the throne room was."

"I thought you should learn from your mistakes." Garsiv lowered his head so he was on the same level as Dastan. "Something I still believe."

"Father ordered you to talk to me, didn't he?" Dastan turned his head towards Tus.

Tus did not like to lie, avoided it when he could. "He may have made a strong suggestion that we support each other, but you have more than that, Dastan. You will always have our respect. Who can but admire a boy that has proven himself to be a worthy prince of Persia and noble brother. "

Dastan looked away for a moment in embarrassment, but his wound limited his movement. Tus realized usually Dastan would make a joke of the praise. "And my men?"

"We're only men, Dastan, ourselves," Tus started to explain, "and we have our customs like you. We believe there should be a separation between the leaderships and the common soldiers."

Garsiv leaned back in the chair, then let it fall forward again with a thud. "You can carry on as you like, but you also need to respect our beliefs."

"I will try." Dastan shifted, and some of the grains of salt fell from his back.

Garsiv reached out to Dastan holding him still. "I will remind you."

Tus dusted the salt to the floor. "Speaking of reminders, were you trying to gain more scars?" They all had their share, being in battle from a young age.

Dastan lifted his head, moving it and the pillow he was holding. "I thought I was supposed to be as marked as my older and wiser brothers?"

"It would make you more palatable." Garsiv rubbed his chin. "Women do find them intriguing."

Tus laughed, taking ease in his brothers. He counted himself lucky to have them in his life. "There is much left to teach you, Dastan as long as you stay our younger brother."

Dastan gave a put upon sigh. "It is a position I will be in for life, I believe."

The end


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